


innocence died screaming

by Charrelous



Series: dulled my claws with your song [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More like Patricia Briggs Alpha and Omega, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, not a/b/o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charrelous/pseuds/Charrelous
Summary: When Yennefer suggests Geralt go investigate a case of a werewolf murdering a witch, he isn't much interested. But his curiosity is piqued once he learns that the murderer is supposedly a submissive wolf, notoriously gentle natured compared to their more dominant counterparts, and that the pack is insisting that the wolf lost control. And even though the wolf, nicknamed Dandelion by his pack, confesses to the crime, there's something so odd about him that suggests the case isn't as clearcut as it would seem.This is not an ABO fic, if that's what you're looking for. This work is inspired by the werewolf dynamics present in the work of Patricia Briggs.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: dulled my claws with your song [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656166
Comments: 62
Kudos: 394





	1. swan song

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for taking the time to read! This is my first Witcher fic, and I pull elements from the games, show, and books. Along with that note, I also blend elements from Patricia Briggs' writing, and I hope you will indulge me in the sandbox I've developed. 
> 
> I love and respond to all comments! I adore talking to you all and hearing what you think!

Geralt stared at the crack of the wall as though the secrets of the universe, or at least, Yennefer, would pour out if only he peered long enough.

Alas.

“Wolves on the hunt don’t leave a body like that. Not if he was out of control.” He sighed. “He would’ve eaten it.”

“That’s why I thought you might be interested. I don’t think he was out of control either, but his pack insists he’s submissive-,” she offered.

He finished, “-and submissive wolves don’t have the aggression to commit murder, much less a witch.”

“Exactly.”

Damn Yennefer. She always knew how to intrigue him, draw him out of his sulking.  _ Not _ that he was sulking. Nothing of the sort.

Geralt was just  _ tired _ . A century of hunting supernaturals, especially his own kind, tugged down on him and his wolf like silver weights, alternating between burning and drowning. Wolves from the Witcher pack were meant to keep the peace, keep the quiet so that humanity would not suspect, and he understood the necessity. Believed in it, even. 

But being away from the pack for so long was draining, and fall had yet to turn to winter, the signal to return home. Living like a loner was brutal for any wolf’s control, and with how dominant he was…

Needless to say, he was grateful for the distraction, even if it would end in more death. The mystery, the hunt… It would be good for him.

“Let me verify the facts. A werewolf killed a witch, and her siblings are out for his blood.” Yen hummed in acknowledgement. “Of course, his pack won’t give him up. They say he lost control, and so should have another chance, like most wolves recently turned. But they also say he’s submissive, and that doesn’t add up too proper werewolf behavior.”

“It’ll be good for you to go and have a look around. See if this one is really guilty. Prevent all out war between this coven and pack. Dramatic. Just how you like it.”

“Hmm.”

A cackle burst from the other end of the line, and he could practically taste her glee. “Go hunting, Witcher. It’s what you do best.”

* * *

First goal: meet the guilty werewolf. 

Yennefer called him Dandelion, but she wasn’t sure if that was his name or just what his pack called him. Strange name for a werewolf, even a submissive. 

The pack resided in Gulet, a small town in Aedirn. He was familiar with both the territory and the current Alpha. With prime hunting grounds, it was often contested by the other local packs, and Witchers were sent with increasing regularity when the conflict was pushed too far. Ferrant de Lettenhove was an underhanded piece of horseshit, so it was of no surprise to Geralt that he occupied it.

Vesemir had mentioned some issues he was having with Lettenhove. Though it was futile, he was sure, he hoped the problems weren’t connected.

Of course, with such a high population of werewolves, other supernaturals were drawn to the town like flies to fresh shit. The coven of witches was new, as he hadn’t heard talk of them before, but if they were set up there, then there must be a source of power that interested them and they wouldn’t be kept at bay easily. Covens were tightly knit groups; they would be seeking retribution, and no Alpha worth their salt would sacrifice one of their own wolves, no matter how awful they were.

Alphas were protective beasts. Geralt wouldn’t be letting Lettenhove know he was investigating unless absolutely necessary, or all hell would break loose.

Flying in wasn’t an option. Gulet was too small to have an airport, though big enough to have a thriving population. On the edge of being a city, but not quite. Fortunately, that meant the people wouldn’t be alerted to a strange face.

So he took Roach. Cars made him nervous, big metal deathtraps, even though an accident likely wouldn’t be severe enough to kill him. Besides, motorcycles allowed him to feel the wind on his face as though he were running, and he had more control. In his line of work, his motorcycles were often destroyed, but this Roach had lasted more than a month.

The address Yen had given him took him to the heart of Gulet. When he first arrived, he thought he was in the wrong place; most werewolves would balk at living in such a creaky, reeking apartment building, with the sound of their neighbors so apparent to them. There was nowhere for the wolf to run close by, and no scent of pack. Only the one lone scent, and a loud caterwauling that damn near had him covering his ears.

Too hard of a knock would’ve broken the door right off its hinges, so he gently rapped the wood with a knuckle. Sure enough, the singing and strumming stopped, the door swinging open to reveal its sole occupant.

The wolf standing before him grinned, though there was no sincerity in the expression. His eyes, a blue that would’ve been brilliant when lit with any sort of emotion, were sunken and worn. Hair limp and expression bruised, he reacted with no recognition of the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia, infamous Witcher, only shifting his weight to lean on the doorway with a form much too gaunt.

It took almost physical effort to keep his wolf forced down. He knew he didn’t succeed, as the grin faded before the wolf could greet him and he averted his eyes with practiced timing as Geralt’s eyes were awashed with gold.

Practiced? He didn’t seem dominant, and a submissive wouldn’t need to practice. Avoiding stepping on the toes of more dominant wolves should’ve been instinctive. This wolf shouldn’t have needed to be  _ taught. _

And hungry wolves were dangerous wolves. Why the  _ fuck _ was this wolf so damn thin?

His own wolf growled within him, low and dangerous.  _ This one needs to be protected. We won’t hurt him. _

_ And if he’s guilty? _ He shot back. He knew affairs weren’t as they appeared, but if he had to kill him…

He’d never had this reaction to another wolf before. Why was his wolf so interested?

_ Ours. _

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” Dandelion murmured, not looking up. Was that sullen anger in his voice? Good. He hadn’t been broken, then.

But what was trying to break him? Why? And why didn’t he know who he was?  
He tried to keep his voice soft, tried to keep his fury out of his tone. His wolf wanted to hunt whoever had given him that bruised look, whoever had hurt him, but it would do no good to scare him.

It didn’t work. The gravel in his tone sent him a step backwards. 

“I’m here to investigate what happened to the witch. May I come in?”

The snort he got in response was bitter. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” And he stepped back, allowing the Witcher entrance.

Calling the residence an apartment was a stretch. Even a studio would’ve been pushing the definition of the word. A cot was placed in the corner, and a bathroom was present, but the kitchen area barely justified the name. Did Lettenhove know his wolf was living like this?

Geralt slammed the door without thinking, and Dandelion nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He gave the Witcher a wide berth, keeping his eyes planted firmly on the floor. Shoulders hunched, as if expecting a blow…

_ Careful _ , his wolf rumbled, watching through Geralt’s eyes. He knew they would be wolf gold, but Dandelion wouldn’t look up.

And he understood the nickname with sudden clarity; the man carried the scent of dandelions with him, woven into his natural scent. Were it not ripe with fear, the smell would’ve been incredibly soothing, bringing rest to his wolf, but now it made him rave with the need to protect.

_ Oh. _ He knew what this wolf was. 

_ Omega _ . Shit.

He was going to kill Yen next he saw her. She probably knew exactly what this wolf was and would be cackling in front of a warm fireplace, wherever she was.

Dandelion kept his wary attention honed in on him. His voice was a nervous muttering, and Geralt’s wolf threw itself against his hard won control. “You’re here about the witch?” 

Geralt nodded, keeping his voice soft and gentle. He could keep the wolf out of his voice, but he knew his eyes hadn’t changed back. “Yes. Can you tell me what happened?” He paused, then murmured, “I’m sure you know that I can smell if you lie. Be honest with what you tell me.”

Dandelion jerked, just an instant, and the flash of fear reek nearly ripped a growl from his throat. He hadn’t known. What was going on with this pack, that the wolves knew almost nothing of being a wolf?

Nevertheless, Dandelion nodded back. When he spoke, his voice was flat, cold despite his fear. He didn’t know about wolves, about Geralt, about Witchers, but he was still afraid? The only thing he knew about Geralt was that he was dominant. 

Was he frightened of dominant wolves?

“I killed her,” he started. His gaze stayed rooted to the floor, tone empty of remorse. “I am guilty, if that’s what you’re here to determine.”

Truth. All of it. Hmm.

“Your Alpha said you lost control. Is that true?” Because out of control werewolves didn’t act like this.

A bark of mirthless laughter answered him. “No. No, I wasn’t. No werewolf problems involved. I was in control, and I killed her.” 

But he didn’t continue, and Geralt couldn’t help but snap, “Why, then?”

Perhaps it was the tone, or perhaps Dandelion could sense his patience wearing thin. Whatever it was, he jerked away from Geralt, fear stench so strong he almost sneezed with it. And his wolf wanted to hunt, to kill, to eliminate whoever had made his wolf afraid of the people meant to protect him, to destroy who had  _ broken _ him.

_ Shit.  _ He knew he shouldn’t get involved. Witchers weren’t meant to have feelings. But his wolf wanted this one, and he had enough curiosity in him to try and figure out why.

But then Dandelion was babbling, arms wrapped around himself in some feeble attempt to hold himself together from the shaking. “I warned her, alright? She was a witch, so she wasn’t kind, and we didn’t love each other, but we both needed a quick fuck with people who didn’t,  _ wouldn’t _ , care to let out some steam. She had pressure on her from her coven, you know? And my pack is-” He cut that part off with a gurgle. “And I told her, you know? I said you can’t hold me down, no matter what, you can’t  _ trap _ me, and she agreed, we were clear, we were safe, but then she  _ did _ , and I-” His eyes finally snapped up to Geralt’s, and soft blue cleared into a color almost white, wolf but not feral, not out of control. “I’ve never had the chance to defend myself before. I was in control, but she was hurting me, loved the power of it, just like witches do. But there was only one of her, and I’m not helpless  _ prey. _ ” And he bared his teeth at Geralt, as though to remind him.

Geralt didn’t need reminding. He knew Omegas were outside of pack structure. Unlike most wolves, they never felt the need to avert their eyes when faced with those more dominant, but they also never felt the need to put others in their place. Because they would never challenge another wolf, they made the dominants feel at ease, but they would also protect the submissives, bringing peace to them as well.

A gift, to those cursed to be beasts. Something to be treasured, not… Whatever had happened here.

He lidded his eyes to watch Dandelion, who stared back with his own wide and blown. A traumatized werewolf would kill without question; they were lucky to have  _ not _ had an out of control werewolf on their hands. With a gentle hm, he let his wolf to the fore, exerting enough Alpha force to calm him, to make him feel safe.

Dandelion reeled back with a snarl, eyes huge. “What are you doing? What the hell is that?”

It was rather like getting kicked in the chest by a horse. All dominants had the ability to soothe, a balance to their protectiveness and aggression. With all this wolf’s trauma, none of his pack had tried to calm him?

He lifted his hand as though trying to calm a wild animal, keeping his voice low. “Easy, Dandelion. Dominant wolves can help you feel safe. You should’ve known this before you were turned.” Oh, that was a worrying thought. “What did you know about werewolves, before you became one?”

Dandelion growled, arms wrapped around himself. “That isn’t my name. Don’t be kind to me, then call me that. And the least you can do before questioning me is introduce yourself.” His voice became high and mocking as he stepped further back.  _ Out of arm’s reach _ , his wolf supplied. “Hi, I’m Jaskier. And you are?”

Geralt swallowed the urge to sigh as his first, second, and third response. He couldn’t offer his hand, not when it was likely to be taken off. Rather, he bowed just a little at the waist. “Geralt of Rivia. Witcher. Here to investigate the death of a witch at the hands of a member of the Gulet pack.”

His nose crinkled in confusion. Geralt fought the urge to break something with his hands, but the only object close enough was a table that could barely stand anyways. “And what in the hells is a Witcher? What, you hunt witches? Or, guess not, since you wouldn’t be investigating me, huh? You speak for them, then? Like some sort of ambassador?”

“None of the above. I am part of a pack of wolves that handle incidents that expose the supernatural community. A war between the wolves and witches of Gulet would certainly bring about unwanted attention. We… Kill monsters.” The last was softer, a truth but one he didn’t wish to speak. Because anyone who was a wolf was a monster. There was nothing that could change that.

Jaskier was silent for a long moment, arms loosening from around his body. “You hunt monsters. Well, you found one, didn’t you? Right here.” His grin was hollow, mirthless. 

Geralt shook his head, unable to stand an expression like that from the one his wolf adored, not when said wolf was clawing up his throat at the chance to start a fight. “I don’t think you’re a monster.” He hesitated, but forced his way forward. “I suspect you were not turned in the usual way, nor were you treated as you should. The pack should not have left you like this.” He took a deep breath, unused to so much speaking and to soothe his ruffled feathers. With a gesture at the table, he invited himself to take a seat.

After a moment, Jaskier did the same.

And, when Geralt glanced over, there was a spark of life in his eyes. Hope?

Perhaps they hadn’t broken this one. Perhaps he could be saved. 

_ Yes, _ his wolf howled.  _ He is strong. He is not broken. He is ours. You will see. _ Geralt hoped so, truly.

“Why don’t you tell me about your turning? From the beginning.”


	2. circling vultures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little background in this chapter, and some buildup! We meet the Countess!
> 
> By the way, the title of this fic is from Hozier's "From Eden"! All works in this series will have titles from Hozier songs!

Geralt had seen enough trauma in his life to recognize when someone was shutting down, but that did not mean he knew how to stop it. Emotions were not his forte.

He did his best work with enemies to slay. Hearts were more wily beasts.

At least Jaskier had apparently decided that he was going to give him a fair shot, and as they had spoken, the fear in his scent had drifted down to a trickle. He silently thanked the gods, as his wolf was finally able to settle enough to let him think and listen.

When Jaskier spoke, his voice was quiet. With their ears, nothing needed to be loud, but he suspected this was a story that needed the quiet to grow. That was fine. He was much better at listening than chatter.

“My story doesn’t start here, I’m afraid.” His eyes grew distant, softening to something more human. “I was a professor of musical performance at Oxenfurt, before I became enamored with the lovely de Stael.” A fond sigh left his throat. “And what a wonderful muse she was. What a shame about the deal with Lettenhove; he’s my cousin, is my Alpha.” The last word was spit with distaste, and Geralt reigned in his unhappiness.

“Lettenhove wanted me, but I have no idea why. I had no idea werewolves were real until de Stael became a monster and showed to me what my insides looked like.” The grin he offered was too bright. “When I came to, I was healing, somehow, but dreadfully ill. But I could remember the stories. I suspected. I knew for certain when Lettenhove and his pack took me away, brought me here.” Shivers racked his body as that horrid grin fled. “He told me what I was, what that meant. He told me I would bring his pack together, make them strong. And he let his wolves have me.”

Geralt felt it, then, the change in Jaskier as he drew on his wolf for help, not giving him control but requesting aid.

The wolf is a beast of the present, a creature of now. It was no wonder to him that one might be useful in reining in the emotions brought forth by horrid memories. On the other hand, his own wolf heard Jaskier’s words, and he wanted to slaughter the entire pack of them.

His voice was a rumbling growl when he interrupted, unable to handle another word without reprieve. “That is not how it is supposed to be. Packs are nothing like what you experienced.” Pain arched from his fingers as he forced them to be human, no claws, not even a little bit. “The change is-” Not kind, no, but not this… Torture. “-willing. There are rules in place, Jaskier. Every individual who undergoes the change must be willing, and they must understand what being a werewolf means. How it will change you.”

Jaskier stared at the wood of the table as though it might bring him some comfort or escape. Geralt, who had done the same many a time, wished him better luck than his own attempts. “No. I knew none of this.” And his distress and fear were leaking from him, playing havoc with Geralt’s emotions, because dominant wolves  _ protect _ , and one who should’ve been the most valuable member of the pack was hurting under their claws.

_ They will die _ , his wolf snarled. 

Geralt offered silent assent, but encouraged the beast to bide his time. Aloud, he said, “These are rules we enforce for the safety of the newly changed wolves and the people around them. We can not afford to make mistakes. As a wolf, you should’ve learned the rules, and you did not. No, you are not at fault here, because traumatized wolves can defend themselves when they are hurting.” He bared his own teeth. “Violently. You killed that woman, yes, but she was trying to hurt you like your pack had. She was more vulnerable to retaliation.”

Because the only way Jaskier would’ve been completely unable to fight back was if the other wolves had allowed this, had helped, had held him down.

Yes, there would be blood shed, but it would not be Jaskier’s. He needed to learn how to be a proper wolf, and a safe place to heal.

There was not a single lie to be had in Jaskier’s tale. The Witchers should’ve heard sooner. The Gulet pack had to be held responsible. Especially since-

“Do you know what you are, Jaskier?”

The other wolf flinched, voice falling flat and monotone. Damn. He didn’t want him to shut down, but he deserved to know. He  _ needed _ to know. “I’m a submissive. The lowest member of the pack. I have to take orders, and I must let them do as they will, no matter what.”

His hand twitched with the yearning to comfort, to soothe, but he had not that right. Despite what his wolf was inclined to believe, he did not know Jaskier well enough to act like he was his mate. He didn’t even know if he  _ liked  _ this wolf yet. And he knew well enough what happened to the last person to overstep with Jaskier, to cross boundaries.

“No.” And Jaskier looked up then, startled out of his trance. “Because you had to be taught to avert your eyes, didn’t you? You had to be taught to bow your head, to take what they did to you, to obey the Alpha without question.” A muscle jumped in Jaskier’s neck. Dead on the mark. “You’re not submissive. You’re Omega.”

Jaskier held his eyes for much longer than he would’ve let another wolf, heat rising in his words. “So what, I’m some sort of special?” He let out a growl to rival Geralt’s. “You’re going to come in here and say I’m  _ special _ ? I know better,  _ Witcher. _ Don’t make me feel better than I am and leave me right where I started.”

_ Impressive _ , muttered his wolf, pleased.

_ Shut it _ .

“And what does that even mean?” Venom coated his sharp edged words. “Enlighten me, Witcher. What is this  _ Omega _ ?”

One breath, then two to steady his nerves. Calm, just like Vesemir taught him. Good for pissed, hurt Omegas and riled tempers. “Omegas are rare. Like dominance, it is about the character of the individual, not some randomly gifted magic. People who tend to be protective and control the room are dominant when turned. Gentle people become submissives. Followers, sweet natured. Omegas are the compassionate, the kind.” He had to chew over his next words. Fuck, he hated talking. “They allow the wolves to rest. It is the most human we can ever feel.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “And you think I’m one of these wolves? Never stopped my pack.”

Because the person could be worse than the wolf. No wolf would ever willingly harm an Omega. But a monster clothed in human skin? Oh, there were no such instincts to hold them back.

“Hmm.”

It was, nevertheless, truth. Only an Omega could do the things Jaskier has done, would behave the way he did.Geralt opened his mouth to tell him so when the door burst inwards, and a hurricane of a woman strode in.

Jaskier was on his feet in a heartbeat, edging away from the table as the woman ignored Geralt and went straight to the other wolf. She crooned and took his hands, eyes bright. “Dandelion, I heard you had a gig at one of the bars yesterday! You know what that means!” Her hands squeezed so tightly that Geralt could hear his bones creak. “Time to pay up, buttercup!”

Jaskier gave that empty grin, and Geralt could feel the influence he exuded, unknowingly loosening the tension in the woman. “De Stael! Countess of my heart and dreams.” As her grip lessened, he slipped his hands free and bowed. “Of course, of course.” He turned away to grab money off the counter and offered most of it to her. “Anything for the pack.”

Perhaps the chuckle at Jaskier’s sardonic tone snapped her attention to Geralt, and her whole body stilled. Amber flooded her eyes as she bared her teeth, voice sharpening to a blade. “Jaskier, dear, what are you doing with a Witcher? Telling tales?”

Jaskier didn’t get a chance to answer as Geralt rose to his feet. She certainly wasn’t dominant enough to meet his eyes, but rage oozed from her pores. “What tales do you think he’d be telling?”

She clamped her jaws shut, growling from behind closed lips. With a scowl, she threw the money back on the table. The tension sparked between them like a live thing, and as Jaskier’s fear filled the air, the calm sense vanished underneath the roiling violence of two dominant wolves. Spittle hit his face in place of an answer.

“Hm.” He stalked closer, but she stepped away, staying just out of his reach. 

Her tone lilted in violence, she sang, “Oh, Lettenhove will be hearing about this, little Dandelion.”

The words hit home; Jaskier jerked away from the both of them, shivering. For a moment, wolf and man were torn. Geralt wanted to pursue the woman as she fled through the door, but the wolf didn’t want to leave Jaskier alone and vulnerable. 

That woman was a mad beast. He knew a moon addled wolf when he saw one. And for the Alpha to be taking money from his pack, something must be rotten at its core. 

No wonder Jaskier lived in such poor conditions. He was just a conduit to feed money to his pack. He wondered how many of the other wolves were living like this, and the rage burning within him set his body aquiver. The apartment told a new, sinister story. Less depressed, traumatized bachelor, more deprived of basic income to live by.

He moved past Jaskier, holding back the need to look him over. The anger pouring of him would need to be under control before he checked, or he would spook the wolf away again. Instead, he tore open the fridge, confirming his fears. The food within wouldn’t have fed a man for a few days, much less a creature with an appetite like a werewolf.

Hungry werewolves were dangerous werewolves.

_ We’ll make sure he’s fed. And then- _ his wolf began.

“We’ll need to meet with your pack, Jaskier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite thank you's for reading! Every kudos, every nice comment, just sends me over the moon. If you're continuing to enjoy, please let me know! <3


	3. a truth too sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a perspective shift in this one! Next chapter is going to be the last one, but I'm going to make this universe into a series, if you all would enjoy that! Just let me know in the comments if you enjoyed and wouldn't mind more!
> 
> All of the support for this has blown me away. I am. In awe. Thank every single one of you for reading. <3

Geralt had been present in his home for two days, preparing for their meeting, and Jaskier was going to lose his mind. Or go bald from stress. He rather hoped it was the former.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the Witcher. But he had finally gotten used to the way his life had turned out. The shifting, the hunting,  _ the constant hurting- _ And then this horribly large, terribly sweet werewolf had barged into his apartment and told him that it was wrong, that things could be different, that he was  _ special… _ Well.

Most of all, he hated that the Witcher made him feel safe. It had taken so long to beat into his wolf that dominants were dangerous. They were controlling bastards that relished in suffering. 

Of course, Geralt of fucking  _ Rivia _ had to bring his big, stupid ass into his life and try and make it better.

Gods above, he hoped it worked. He wanted it to be better. He wanted a reason to keep fighting, to live.

When he wasn’t pacing, stressed to his wits about the meeting with his pack, he was watching the Witcher, who seemed to think he needed to be eating  _ constantly. _

Like now, for instance. Geralt’s eyes were a lovely golden, ringed in black, his wolf right at the fore. Over  _ takeout _ , of all things. He let out a laugh, pushing the box of fried rice away.

“Really, I don’t need to eat  _ that much _ . You practically ordered the whole menu!” Geralt growled at him, the brute. He snorted on another laugh. “Now, don’t you growl at me. We’re only wolves some of the time. You’ll behave in my apartment.”

Geralt’s lip curled back as if to snarl. “Your apartment is barely livable. And I wouldn’t have had to order so much if either of us could cook.” They both winced. Jaskier had tried to make his sudden guest breakfast the other morning, and the results were rather horrifying. The resulting sludge, stinking and burnt, had been taken outside to the dumpster. And Geralt had insisted that his cooking abilities weren’t much better. Jaskier hadn’t argued.

“You wouldn’t have had to order so much anyways. Now  _ you  _ may be able to single handedly eat an establishment out of business, but I’m not of your, well, stature.”

That time, Geralt had the audacity to actually show some fang as he pushed the rice closer. “Fucking eat,” he snarled, the command of an Alpha roiling underneath his words. He felt the force of it ruffle his metaphorical fur, but the order didn’t settle in to roost. Because he was some sort of  _ Omega _ .

Nevertheless, rude was rude. If he was going to be stuck with this hulk of a bastard for a while, he’d have to be taught.

Well, he was good at teaching. He hadn’t been a professor at Oxenfurt for nothing.

He reached forward without hesitation and flicked the Witcher right on the nose like some sort of naughty puppy. He  _ was _ a naughty puppy, in a way. Just the kind that could take off your arm right at the shoulder.

Geralt recoiled with a wide eyed look. So he had finally managed to surprise him. Good. 

“Remember, orders don’t work on me. Now, why are you so insistent on making me eat, hmm?”

“Because you have as many brain cells as a desert has water,” Geralt grumbled, ignoring his gasp and dodging the next flick to his nose. Damn. He was learning a different lesson. “Werewolves have to eat more than humans do. We consume more energy when we shift, and in general. And hungry werewolves are dangerous werewolves.”

Jaskier arched a pristine eyebrow. “I’ve never had the urge to run around the city eating people, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” He chewed that one over for a moment. “Do  _ you  _ get the urge to run around eating people?”

Geralt didn’t dignify that with a response. Rather, a scowl tugged that handsome face out of true, and Jaskier sighed. Oh, what he had to do for art. With the airs of one much troubled, he lifted his fork and dug in. This time around, he kept going until Geralt appeared satisfied, which required consuming almost half the order.

And he… Actually felt better. Stronger. He hadn’t even realized that he was feeling weak. No wonder the other members of his pack were so strong. They probably knew that they had to eat like ravenous beasts.

That was going to be a problem. He couldn’t afford that kind of investment, not unless he went out and hunted for himself. Ugh.

His distaste must have shown on his face, because Geralt’s expression softened, quirking his head to the side like a confused pup. “Jaskier,” he began, and who gave him the right to say his name like that? All stifled fondness as though he couldn’t untangle the word emotion from that cute head of his, and barely masked concern.

_ We’ll fix it, with time, _ his wolf murmured, like he had been invited to give  _ any _ sort of opinion. As though Geralt won’t find a new, proper pack to dump him on as soon as he handled this one. 

The idea made his wolf growl, hackles rising.  _ No. We are his. He is ours. You’ll see. _

Dramatic creature. They’d only known the man for a few days.

But the beast had nothing more to say, thank goodness.

“I’m not going to let you starve,” the Witcher continued. “Established packs don’t take money from their members. You’ll be able to feed yourself.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “Where do you intend to put me, anyways?”

Gold fading from his eyes, Geralt stared at Jaskier for a long moment. He couldn’t help it; his heart began to race as his brain screamed that he needed to look away avert his eyes, else he’ll lose his temper and hurt, hurt-

He shot his focus to the ceiling, breathing deep. Geralt watched with a frown, ignoring the question to grunt. “Sorry.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled from his throat, unbidden and unwelcome. “Not your fault. I’m working on it, don’t worry.” 

The Witcher didn’t answer. Without any further words, he returned to his own food, apparently determined to clean the other half of the table of takeout.

* * *

Jaskier didn’t find out that the Witcher actually had a plan for dealing with the Gulet pack until later that evening, after spending nearly an hour wheedling him for information. Puppy dog eyes didn’t work on the Witcher, damn him, but apparently being relentlessly annoying and obnoxious did the trick just fine.

Geralt growled at him. “You’re going to learn how to calm wolves on purpose, rather than on accident. With as moon addled as they are, that will keep them from attacking all at once. Once I slay the Alpha, I will be able to determine how guilty the rest of the pack is.”

A shudder ran through his body. All of them were guilty, every single one, and he would rather never see him again. Even the thought of being in a room with all of them made his hands clammy with sweat.

Evidently, Geralt smelled his fear, because he turned to say something, but Jaskier interrupted without pause. “If I’m so essential to this plan, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Hmm.” Geralt raised a single eyebrow. “I was hoping you would relax a bit more first. You’re much too tense to project calm into anyone, much less an unwilling wolf.”

Oh, was that all? He had to battle the urge to laugh. “I’m not going to relax, Geralt. This is how I am.” Because there’s a dominant near me went unsaid, but he suspected the Witcher picked up on it anyways. 

Gold surfaced in his eyes as a shimmer underneath the brown. Much to his surprise, rather than speaking, Geralt stalked into the bathroom. The door squeaked as it closed, but it didn’t slam, so surely he wasn’t angry.

His unspoken question was answered by a series of meaty pops and crunches that had his hair standing on end.  _ He’s changing. _ Despite the agony of the shift, he remained silent except for the occasional grunt. As the change progressed, they softened to panting. They stopped abruptly, followed by claws scratching at the door.

Gods, that was so much faster than his own shift. Some sort of Witcher power? Jaskier opened the door to let out the wolf, only to gape in awe.

All the wolves he had seen before, including himself, were much larger than any wolf had a right to be. In size, they were more easily comparable to a small bear, and their shoulders and forelegs had much the same flexibility. Geralt, however, came easily up to his torso, his pelt an unbroken white. The scar over his eye was shiny with healed tissue.

Unlike dominant werewolves in human form, Jaskier was comfortable with those in wolf form. Any damage done would be physical rather than what happened when his pack inevitably-

Geralt nosed his hand to draw him from his thoughts, whining low in his throat. A grateful smile broke across his face, and he risked his life by dropping to his knees to scratch at Geralt’s face.

“You know, you’re as handsome as a wolf as you are a man. No mangy mutt of a Witcher, hmm?”

Geralt broke his dignified pose to let his tongue loll for an instant, but he evidently had something else in mind, for he trotted into the bedroom, tail up and waving like a flag. Jaskier followed at his heels, intrigued.

Once certain he had his attention, Geralt nudged each of his instruments, sniffing. He paused at his ukulele, then shoved it with his snout towards Jaskier. Then, with a huge yawn, he curled up on the floor and  _ stared. _

Fine. He could take a hint, and he loved to perform. Likely why he picked the ukulele. His scent had to be all over it. He settled onto the bed, crossing his legs to prop his instrument. Though he wasn’t sure what the Witcher had in mind, he played a few notes, humming to himself as he fished through the songs he knew. Aha! That would be fun.

The notes shifted to something a bit more fast paced as he chose a tune he had heard the college students belting in a bar. Fun and inappropriate, he made him want to dance along as he belted the lyrics to his captive listener, so he tapped his foot to the beat.

Something tight and exhausted in his chest loosened, so he played louder, hoping to jostle it off. Geralt just kept staring, but his tail was thumping on the ground, right along to the beat. The smile that spread across his face was the most genuine he’d had in a while, something in him cracking and warming. Gods, how his face ached from the expression. How he missed it.

As his fear faded into the music, a new feeling reared within him, pushing at his skin as an echo of his emotions. He didn’t fight it; rather, he pushed it  _ out _ , and the wolf abruptly stilled, eyes grown huge. Pupils blown wide, he rested his head in his paws, and for some reason, the damn thing looked… Proud?

Oh.

That feeling, that echo. Was that what Geralt had been talking about?

Geralt barked at him (another sign they weren’t anything like true wolves), insistent and demanding. Jaskier nodded back at him. He needed to practice. He certainly couldn’t stride into Lettenhove’s home playing a ukulele and belting out bar music. He had to do it on his own, without the crutch.

This time, he would fight back. He would be free.


	4. shrike giving homage to the sharpest of thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAHHH WE'VE DONE IT! Lovely lads, lasses, and nonconforming individuals, this is the first time I have ever been inspired enough to finish a story. And the climax is here! 
> 
> I cannot thank you all enough for the support. Every comment damn near makes me cry. You're all so SWEET, dang it!
> 
> Please enjoy the conclusion to this excerpt of tale. If I remain so inspired, and if you guys would like to see more of this universe, please let me know! I have many ideas, including Ciri joining the party and fun oneshots, much less brutal than this one was.
> 
> Heads up! Trigger warning for self harm in this one! Everything else is tagged accordingly, so be careful! This chapter isn't kind!

Jaskier rode to the mansion with the most intense feeling of nerves he had ever experienced. Heart somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth, he pressed his forehead against Geralt’s spine, forcing himself to take deep breaths as the Witcher had instructed.

If he panicked, the plan would go to shit. Geralt may have been a good fighter, but he couldn’t take on a whole pack of werewolves at once. They were counting on his ability to put their wolves out of commission so that Geralt could handle Lettenhove.

And, to be honest, he thought taking the motorcycle was a wretched idea. Why announce their visit even more than they already were? Every werewolf even remotely close by would know they were coming.

Geralt had only grunted at him. Any werewolf worth their salt would hear us coming, no matter what we drive, he had said.

Well, he knew for a fact that his shaker was full of pepper, and he couldn’t miss the roar of Roach underneath him. Who knew a werewolf would drive something so  _ loud? _

He should’ve been uncomfortable with the idea that Geralt already knew the route to the pack home, but he was instead just intensely relieved. He could focus on keeping his head on straight. They were both going in human form, despite Jaskier’s arguments.

If Geralt hadn’t needed him there, he was certain he wouldn’t have been allowed to come at all. Something in those intensely golden eyes told him that Geralt was still fighting his wolf about that.

Hah. Even if he hadn’t been an Omega, he was going to go. No way was Geralt going in to face those monsters alone.

He had someone to protect now, even if the poor Witcher didn’t see it that way.

The home of the Gulet pack was far enough out of town to be ringed by plenty of forest, so they wouldn’t even view the home as they pulled up to it. Within moments of entering the trees, a few of the pack in wolf form ran up alongside of the motorcycle, yipping and snapping at the wheels. They weren’t dragged off of it, thank all the gods, for they knew better, but he briefly considered kicking one in the nose.

A growl rumbled through Geralt’s chest, and he pondered for a moment the wonder of being able to feel it bubbling up under his fingers. Whether it was for him about to be petty or the wolves for being rude, he wasn’t sure, but they fell back and disappeared into the trees, wraiths lost to the woods.

Jaskier shuddered. They were like something out of a nightmare. At least a good kick to the nose would help remind him that he was as strong as they.

The home loomed amongst the trees in some horrible parody of belonging. The architect must have had a terrible sense of humor, making it look so much like an extravagant cabin. Only Lettenhove’s favorites lived in the residence with him and his mate, but gathering were held all of the time.

At any given moment, there were at most five wolves. Though he hadn’t mastered distinguishing scents, even he could tell that most of the pack was present. When the wall of odors hit him, he gagged, scrambling off the bike the moment they stopped.

The last time he’d been here with a gathering so big was when he had learned what silver did to him. He wouldn’t be able to fight back, he knew, but he’d be able to take himself away from them, no longer to be used like a broken toy. Even the touch of memory pinched his throat, sweat rendering his skin slick and clammy. He’d had no access to silver bullets, or knives. The pack monitored his transactions; they would’ve known if he had purchased anything of the sort.

There had been a necklace from his mother in with his jewelry. Once he’d turned, he had to stop wearing it. Jaskier hadn’t the courage to strangle himself with it, but on one of his worst nights, he removed the pendant and swallowed the silver chain.

The Countess had found him the next morning, writhing on the floor as it burned him from the inside, clawing at his abdomen like a feral beast. She’d dragged him from his blood and shit, forced him to puke it up, tended to him as he healed.

And when he was better, he was dragged before a gathering of the whole pack. Lettenhove had punished him for his lack of gratitude for the pack, for the gifts they’d given him, and offered him to the entire pack of them.

A year later, he still wouldn’t wear necklaces of any sort. Too close to the memory of his bowels burning from within.

For what felt like an eternity, he crouched in the cold night grass and panted, hoping beyond hope he could get his gorge under control. Geralt left him plenty of space, for which he was grateful. He didn’t know if the Witcher was too emotionally constipated to offer comfort or if he sensed that it wouldn’t do any good, but Jaskier knew that a single touch would’ve likely sent him fleeing through the trees.

Or divested the Witcher of the offending arm. His fight or flight was more like a pendulum than a reflex.

Much to his relief, no one came out to investigate. Likely, they wanted to handle the Witcher in close quarters, where they could overwhelm him in a familiar environment. He staggered to wobbly feet only once he was ready, when the touch of silver didn’t seem so close, and whispered, “Let’s go.”

He expected the Witcher to argue. But he watched with those intense gold eyes and nodded, turning to kick open the door.

Ah. So they weren’t even going to pretend to be polite.

Lettenhove stood waiting with his pack, all in human form. They gave the Alpha plenty of distance, even his mate, all eyes locked on the ground. At the noise, he sighed, waving his hand. 

“Was that necessary, Geralt? Why does dealing with you always leave me with so many repairs?”

Geralt bared his teeth in a facade of a smile. A wolf’s smile, all fang and promised death. “Yes.” He gestured to the wolves around them with nails too long. “I don’t know any of these wolves, Lettenhove. Have you been cleaning house?’

That warranted another sigh. Did the Alpha not see how close he was to death? Even the rest of his wolves were relaxed. Weren’t they scared? 

The wolves from the forest flowed in through the broken door, joining their packmates. None of them looked at Geralt. Or Jaskier.

Lettenhove waved his hand again, but this time, the gesture was dismissive. “Ah, there was a rebellion just a few years ago. Had to put down many. The Witchers will be getting an updated pack list as soon as I’ve replenished the numbers.”

A slight tick below Geralt’s eye. Oh. Did he catch him in a lie? 

“The Kaer Morhen pack does not need your list,” he intoned. Jaskier pulled his ukulele off of his back and strummed a few notes, seeking his center. He knew well enough what Geralt was going to say. “Lettenhove, Gulet pack, you have been found guilty of turning humans without consent, abuse of a pack member, and the indirect death of a witch of the Gulet coven. Alpha, you are sentenced to death, and your remains are to be provided to the witches as evidence of justice done.”

Lettenhove watched Geralt like a hunting cat, his own eyes wolf amber. When he responded, his voice was a growl. “All of this, from the words of a submissive? Anyone could’ve ordered him to say these things.”

Another tick. Another lie. So Lettenhove knew he was an Omega, just like Geralt had suspected.

Geralt ignored his words to look around at the rest of the pack. “The innocent members of the pack will be dispersed to be rehabilitated with healthy packs. If you were only following the orders of your Alpha,  _ sit. _ ”

Moment of truth. Surely Lettenhove hadn’t handpicked a pack of monsters? Surely someone opposed his complete dominance?

Clarity hit all at once. Those that had opposed his dominance had died. Lettenhove wanted to be stronger, wanted to expand his pack, with stronger wolves to aid him. But the only wolves crazy enough to join his power rush were out of control, wild and moon addled. 

That’s why they needed an Omega. Even though they abused him beyond recognition, his presence in the pack bonds kept them from losing all sense of self. Made them workable, if not fully sane.

Not a single wolf dropped. And while Geralt was staring, waiting for any sign of innocence, Lettenhove lunged on silent feet.

The Witcher was prepared, stepping to the side and using his own momentum to toss him back into the pack. The next lunge wasn’t nearly so silent, and the two devolved into a snarling storm of flesh on the floor, scrambling for any weakness. 

There was no time for either of them to shift, but the other pack members weren’t nearly so constrained. Multiple began to strip, their muscles and skin writhing into something less human.

At his center, Jaskier found the ethereal windings of peace, a winding thread of what he felt when he performed for Geralt. And maybe he didn’t believe in a happy ending, or didn’t have certainty that they would succeed, but he had  _ hope. _ And  _ wanting. _ So he took that strand of peace, a memory, a wisp, and wound it about himself, into the very essence of his song. And as he sang, just like before, he pushed it beyond himself, into the hearts of everyone in the room.

The wolves who had lost all essence of humanity dropped, puppets with their strings cut. Even the Countess collapsed, she who had tormented him for so long. When it hit Geralt, the gold drained from his eyes, leaving that warm brown. Lettenhove, however, paused for only an instant, green eyes flicking up to Jaskier in horror.

“ _ Silence _ ,” he howled, and Jaskier faltered. But he didn’t have to listen, so he sang even louder, right as Geralt snapped Lettenhove’s neck with a resounding crunch.

The wolves still standing moaned in unison, and even Jaskier gasped as the loss of his Alpha yanked something out of him, like the removal of a festering tooth. The infection had wound itself through his heart, into his bones, but the source was gone. The pus would drain, if given time, and the infection would fade.

His wounds within his heart would heal, just like the wounds of his body had been taken by his wolf.

One by one, Geralt approached the guilty, maddened wolves, slaying them with horrible efficiency, asleep as they were through Jaskier’s song. Those still standing tried to flee, but the mansion was their coffin, closing them in too tight a space as he hunted each one down. 

With Jaskier in the doorway and the clutter in the living room, they had faced no other option.

A whisper of movement drew Jaskier’s attention to the Countess, who had risen while Geralt was otherwise distracted. No amount of song would still the madness in her eyes, the vengeance that rang through her scent, clear as the sound of a gong. There was a gun in her hand, and Geralt wouldn’t have time to react-

But Jaskier was closer, Jaskier could stop her-

She lifted the weapon, and Jaskier swung-

His ukulele hit her skull with the force of a terrified werewolf, damn near removing it from her shoulders. Geralt jumped at the noise, twisting to take in the sight of Jaskier, covered in blood and holding the shattered remains of his instrument.

Jaskier bared sharp, white teeth in a grin. “You owe me a ukulele.”

* * *

He still couldn’t decide if he hated Yennefer, or loved her. If she had been a wolf, she would’ve certainly been an Alpha, more dominant than even Geralt, he was sure.

Geralt hadn’t believed him.

The witch had been called in to help clean to the mess of the Gulet mansion, so that any meddling humans wouldn’t find signs of the deaths that had occurred there. Unlike most witches, she didn’t stink of rot and pain. Rather, power oozed from her as though born from within her body.

_ Self sacrifice _ , Geralt had said, and something in the way she carried herself echoed his words. He wondered what she had sacrificed, and decided to harass her about it when she wasn’t covering both of their asses.

She had approached him when the cleaning was done (magical and mundane), and peered into his eyes. After a moment, she cackled, letting him go, and he had the distinct sense of someone playing in his noggin.

“You’ll have fun with this one, Geralt. You dragging him back up to Kaer Morhen?”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t the only time she had spoken around him as though he wasn’t  _ right there _ , and he would’ve snapped something back if his wolf hadn’t stood at attention at the question, focus locked on Geralt.

As if his wolf had ever been focused on anything but Geralt, since the Witcher had entered his life. Not that he blamed him. He felt much the same way. But one of the two of them had to have a brain cell, and he had no idea what would come next after this.

Geralt must have seen some of his sudden and intense curiosity, and cuffed him on the back of the head. Gentle, playful. 

“What, did you think I was going to leave you to yourself out here? No, Kaer Morhen is the perfect place for you to learn how to be a wolf. Properly, this time. And you and I can find out why our wolves are acting like they are.”

Wait. His wolf was doing the same?

But wolves were one thing. He hadn’t wanted to hope too much, in case they were squashed, but-

He wanted to follow Geralt halfway across the world, if he could. It… It felt like the universe was open to him again, free for him to explore, to  _ learn. _ And what was once a whisper of music had blossomed into a whole orchestra of inspiration.

The world around him had color again. Eternity no longer seemed like such a hell.

Jaskier wasn’t better. No, it would take centuries to fully heal from what the Gulet pack had done to him, and the scars would always be present, throbbing and tough. But, for the first time since his turning, healing was a possibility.

And his wolf wanted Geralt. Wouldn’t that be a merry chase?

Yennefer must’ve picked up on some of it, and she offered him a wink. Oh, she’d had that tail before, he knew. He wondered if he could get her advice.

But he turned from her to beam at Geralt, bowing grandly towards Roach.

“Lead the way, oh powerful Witcher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite thanks again for all of your support. You all are angels. <3 I would've never finished this without you.

**Author's Note:**

> <3 I hope you all enjoyed! If you would like me to continue, please don't hesitate to let me know! <3


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